


Road to Salvation

by OneShotWonder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, Call to Pastor Jim, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 09:56:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7930288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneShotWonder/pseuds/OneShotWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has been shot and is driving to a church to get some help. A one-shot about Dean trying to save his own life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Road to Salvation

His breath hitched and he clung desperately to the feel of the Impala’s wheels against the pot-holed country road. He relied far too heavily on the rumble strips on the side of the lane for a jolt as the car swerved indelicately into the shoulder multiple times.

Dean tried to breathe slowly and keep his sticky, blood-covered hand from sliding off the steering wheel as he drove. His other hand was occupied with keeping a blood soaked cloth pressed tightly against the gunshot wound in his stomach. A similar injury bled sluggishly from his left shoulder, making his grip on the steering wheel even more unsteady.

Getting shot wasn’t like the movies at all. People thought the force of a gunshot would send you flying backward, and they had no idea how loud it was.

In real life, if it was a small caliber gun, most people wouldn’t even notice they had been hit until long after the incident. Between the adrenaline running through your body and the shock, most people would have no idea what to do.

But Dean wasn’t most people. He saw the muzzle flash of the police officer’s gun in the dark, heard the quick booming of three shots and his head did the math more quickly than he thought possible. Judging by the aim and trajectory of the bullet, he was hit, at least twice, and needed to move quickly to prevent another, maybe more permanent hit.

Twenty minutes later he was in his car, slowly bleeding out. He couldn’t really blame the cop; Dean _was_ poking around a crime scene in the middle of the night.

Never mind it was his job and that Dean most likely new far more about this particular murderer than the police officer ever could imagine, but he didn’t know that, so Dean couldn’t blame him.

Once the first aid kit was splayed out in the front seat of the car and he put pressure on one of the wounds, he knew he was in trouble.

Being a Winchester, he had experience with guns, and even had the unfortunate experience of being shot. He knew what to look for: an exit wound, the signs of internal bleeding, signs of intestinal tearing.

Three things he was sure of:

One was that he couldn’t go to the hospital; hospitals had a policy of reporting all gunshot wounds and he would be arrested before he had a chance to escape.

Two, was that he could live a long time with a stomach wound, probably hours. 

And three was that if he didn’t get medical attention soon, he would die.

He calculated the facts in his head and grabbed a phone from the glove compartment. “Pastor Jim Murphy.” Dean’s old friend’s voice clacked out of the speakerphone after a few short rings.

“Pastor Jim, its Dean, I need someone to patch me up, no questions asked, I am near New Holstein, Wisconsin.” Jim swore under his breath and Dean could hear him flipping through papers. He was used to calls like this, and he probably knew from the tone of Dean's voice that time was of the essence. He was all professional.

 “Can you drive?” He asked curtly. Dean said yes and Jim gave him a quick list of instructions, including several lettered county roads that were normal for small towns like these.

“There is a priest at the St. John the Baptist Catholic Church about 20 min away named Father Glenn, he was a combat medic and surgeon and you can trust him, I will tell him you are coming.”

“No hospital.” Dean demanded and hung up before he could be asked any more questions.

Pastor Jim was like an uncle to him and he didn’t want to be asked how bad he was hurt, or even worse, why his father wasn’t with him. Cause god knows Dean would have liked to know as well.

The closer John got to figuring out his wife’s murder, the less Dean saw him. The young Winchester would have felt furious if he had time to dwell on it, but the blood loss and the need for action kept his mind in the right place. Dean was sharp with directions and his internal compass never led him astray as he pushed the Impala west and headed for this priest--who was possibly the only person in the area who could keep him alive.

He couldn’t speed too much in the slight chance he would get pulled over, so he kept his baby only 10 miles per hour over the limit.

It still took him over 15 minutes to get to the large church and by this time he was bleeding much more heavily. The rag that was pressed to his stomach was completely soaked through and the shoulder wound pumped out blood that ran slowly down his arm and side.

He suddenly felt grateful for the late hour as he flung the church doors open and found the large dimly lit hall echoingly empty.

“Father!?” He choked out as he stumbled down the aisle between long brown pews. He made it a few steps before a wave of dizziness caught him and he felt his wet hands slap against the tile floor to catch his limp body. He pushed the dripping rag back onto his stomach with a hiss and continued down the aisle by pulling himself forward in a one-armed army crawl.

Each inch forward felt like an eternity but he was a Winchester, and that meant he was stubborn as hell. Dean wasn’t about to die with Jesus’ smug face looking down at him.

He tried to call out again, but only a wet sputtering left his mouth, full of blood. His hand was shaking so badly he finally turned on his side and used both hands to keep pressure on the wound. Looking back toward the door he came in, he saw that he had streaked reddish brown blood across the white tile down the aisle of the fine church. He called and called for the Father and before he lost consciousness he couldn’t recall if he was calling for the priest, or his own dad.


End file.
